Dear Rose
by Whole Lotta Sarah Tribbiani
Summary: Post Doomsday one shot. Is there a way the Doctor can tell Rose what he needed to tell her? Rating to be safe.


Dear Rose

I really like Doctor Who! I want to attempt a serious story! Please tell me how big a mess I made of it, I've never done a serious Doctor Who story before.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it. Doctor Who isn't mine.

* * *

The Doctor sat on the newly placed bench sadly. He knew what the bench was for. He just didn't want to face it. 

'In loving memory of Rose Tyler.'

Those were the only six words on there.

Six words...

"Don't you think she looks tired?"

Those six words that had made him feel better in the past. But there weren't any words in the universe that could make him feel any better now.

Nobody except him really knew what had happened to Rose, Mickey and Jackie. They all had their own benches. All with six words on them. It seemed strange, when the Doctor knew they were alive. He also knew, however, that to him they were as good as dead. It seemed an awful thing to say, but, he told himself sadly, it was true.

He walked off, still finding it difficult to be on his own. The TARDIS was waiting for him a few paces away. It ought to have made him feel himself again, but even as he sat down on the floor, he felt as bad as ever.

He should be used to this. He was the Doctor, the last of the Time Lords. Rose wasn't the first companion who had left him. Though she was the first one who'd been different.

He should have told her. What was he thinking? Waffling on about it being his last chance to say it, or whatever on Earth he'd said. He'd wasted so much precious time. And he was a Time Lord - what did that say about him?

He was such an idiot. He'd had _loads_ of chances to tell her before that last time. Loads of time ... he'd wasted all of that, too ...

He tried to tell himself it had been for the best. It was better to get it over with quickly. If he'd managed to tell her, and if she'd stayed, she would still have died. And he knew he would've had to watch it happen. Miserably, he tried to ignore the voice in his head telling him he was going to regret not doing it for the rest of his long, long life ...

Before he could stop himself, the Doctor found himself looking for stationery. He'd soon dug out paper, pens, envolopes and stamps. He didn't need to think. It was like second nature to him. He was going to tell her.

He pulled the lid off the pen, staredblankly at the paper for a moment, then began to write.

It wasn't long. It didn't need to be long. He'd learnt from experience not to ramble on.

_Dear Rose,_

_I know exactly what you meant. I don't know what to say either. Well, that's not really true. I know what I want to say, it's saying it that's the problem. I suppose I want to say I love you, but now I've written that it looks so stupid on its own. It's true, though, no matter how stupid it looks. And I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner._

_I don't know what else to put. Really. I just wish I could write 'see you soon' or something._

_Loads of love,_

_The Doctor_

It was in writing. Now Rose needed to read it.

Carefully, the Doctor addressed the envolope, and slid the folded letter in. The only place he could think of sending it to was Jackie's. It was for sale. He could hardly bear the thought of someone else living there, not knowing what had really happened to its previous occupants.

He stuck the stamp down and stood up. He could easily have posted it through the door, but somehow it seemed more likely Rose would get it if it came through the post.

* * *

The Doctor turned the key in the lock. He'd come for one last look around the place Rose used to live. He felt he needed to say goodbye to it properly. It was almost like a part of Rose. 

He'd got the key from the estate agent. She'd offered to take him round herself, not realizing the Doctor wasn't interested in buying the place. Of course, he'd declined. He had to be on his own.

He stepped into the hall and almost trod on something. He looked down at the floor - and found the letter he'd written to Rose, lying there, alone. It was the only item of post. There'd been nothing else.

He picked it up, a lump rising in his throat. It wasn't as if he was surprised to see it. But it didn't stop the ink being smudged by tears that fell of their own accord. The Doctor sat down on the floor against the wall ...

He remembered the emotional time just after Rose went through the void. The wall ... he'd leant against it, wishing for everything tobe undone, wishing she'd held on for justa few more moments ...

That's what it was like now. He was wishing silently, wishing for Rose to somehow receive his letter. But he knew it was hopeless. He'd known it all along. He'd been like a child, thinking that if he'd posted the letter properly rather than popped it through the letterbox Rose would have read it ...

The letter lay in his hand, catching the steadily falling tears. The Doctor knew there was no use crying - it was done. He knew there was nothing he could do about it.

Then why was he crying?

He knew a lot of things. He just didn't know how one human could hurt him so much.

* * *

I showed my friend this. Thank youFaramirlover/Becky! Oh, and I made her cry, apparently ... again. Please review. 


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